“Am I interrupting?” Emmy’s voice causes my head to snap up as I slam the drawer closed, narrowly missing my fingertip.
“Not at all. Come in.” She’s perhaps even prettier than I remember, achingly young and unknowingly beautiful.
Her dark hair is up in what I’m guessing most women would call an elegant bun, but instantly, I want to reach behind her, remove the hairpins that keep it in place and watch her glorious ebony waves tumble down her back. Her dark blue skirt and creamy button-down blouse are simple and efficient, and I appreciate that she’s made an effort to dress ‘corporate’ as my mother calls it, but all I can think about are those long legs in the ass hugging jeans I’d seen her in at the mall.
“Surprise.” She lifts her hands before she walks forward, a small smile fixed on her face.
“I thought I’d told you to call,” I say, transfixed by the way her hips sway with each step. Her smile falters, but she gives me a small shrug as she comes to stand a few feet from the desk.On second thoughts, I like her in that skirt. Easier to bend her over my desk and do a thousand inappropriate things with her…
“My phone was disconnected earlier this week,” she admits, looking a little embarrassed. And suddenly I feel like a dick for thinking with my…er…dick.“I didn’t have the chance to get it up and running again. So I thought I’d come in and see you in person instead.”
“I’m sorry to hear you were having trouble with your phone.”
“It happens from time to time.” Opening her faux-leather shoulder bag, she pulls out a plastic folder. “I brought my resume. It’s full of odd jobs that didn’t last particularly long. But if you were serious about hiring me as a sales rep…” She trails off, now looking a little unsure. I lift my hand and wave her closer, indicating that I want to see the resume myself.
“You’re really busy, aren’t you?” she says as she thrusts it at me but doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry, I should have used a payphone and called.” I can see her knuckles whiten as she clenches the file. “You’re probably supposed to be on your way to a meeting or something like that. I even heard Alice”—she jerks her thumb toward the door—“confirm a meeting with a client just now for later in the day while I was outside. I didn’t realize you were the boss when we first met, Mr. Grant. Not often a girl gets the chance to sell a bunch of cupcakes to a bonafide CEO of his own company. You know, I googled you after you gave me your card, read all about you and your company. How you started small and turned it into…well…this.And I know that my resume is like, the worst resume there is, but I’m grateful for the opportunity, I really am. If you can just give me a chance.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Ms. Townsend?” Placing my free hand over hers, I pry her fingers open and slide the resume from between them. She snatches her hand back with a gasp and whispers, ‘Sorry,’ as she plonks her weight down in the chair on the opposite side of my desk, the pulse at the hollow of her throat beating rapidly from her nerves. I press the intercom. “Can I get some water for Ms. Townsend please, Alice?”
“Of course, sir,” Alice says, her voice crackling slightly along the digital line. “Right away.”
Releasing my finger, I rise from my chair and move around my desk, leaning my weight on the edge of it so I’m sitting in front of her. Something about having the big desk between us feels too formal. But then there’s the problem here of having that pouty mouth of hers almost in alignment with my… I hastily blink away that image.
“Your water,” Alice says, pushing my office door open, brandishing a chilled bottle of water. Emmy accepts it with thanks, refuses the offer of a glass, then drinks down thirstily as Alice leaves us alone again.
Emmy’s wide eyes return to mine while she slowly drains the bottle. And I wait until she’s finished drinking before I speak.
“I’m glad you came in, Ms. Townsend,” I say, taking the empty bottle from her hands and setting it beside me. “It shows initiative. And great problem-solving skills. You’ll need those working here.” I lift her resume and start thumbing through it. And just like she pointed out during her adorable ramble, she’s held many jobs over the last couple of years, but none of them lasted for more than a few months. “Do you purposefully choose short-term work? Or do you have trouble holding onto your positions long term?” I think back to our conversation at the mall when she explained how she was juggling work and night school.
She gives me a half-smile. “A little from column A and a little from column B. Nobody really wants to hire someone without even a high school diploma for any qualified work,” she explains, indicating the page I’m on. “And the ones that do aren’t planning on paying much. I bust my ass—I mean, I work really hard—in every role I’ve ever had, but sometimes it goes unrecognized, and I leave or they ask me to. I don’t know. I guess I’m a little gung-ho, trying to chase a life that maybe I’m not meant to have.”
“What kind of life do you want to have?”
A laugh bubbles out of her chest. “One where I can afford to pay my phone bill, and maybe get a car that doesn’t cost my entire paycheck to fill up with gas.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to give her a new phone and tell her she can take a company car right now, but I know that’s not what she wants. No. Emmy Townsend is the kind of woman who wants to make her own way in this world. I can sense that in her as sure as the sun rises in the east.
Still, I have a great urge inside me to provide her with everything she’ll ever want or need, and I don’t really know why. Sure, I’m ridiculously attracted to the girl, but that’s just my body reacting to a surge of hormones. It doesn’t explain thisneedI have to be her…everything.I’ve never felt that before, and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
Clearing my throat, I close her resume and set it aside. “I need talent, hard work, and skill, Ms. Townsend. They’re not something you can find in a fancy degree. They’re things you’re born with. And I’ve seen enough of you in action to know you have the kind of experience I’m looking for, which is rare in someone so young. Wait. How old are you?” I pick up her resume again and flip back to the first page, searching for her date of birth.
Holy fuck.My heart beats heavily as that chasm between us widens. She’s only nineteen, twenty in another month, but still, right now, she’s nineteen…
I’m forty-five.
Holy.
Fuck.
When she mentioned doing her GED at night school, I thought she was at least in her twenties. Not so young she still had a fucking ‘teen’ in her age. Holy shit. What am I even doing right now? I’ve lost my mind, gone completely bonkers. I’ve been obsessing over a nineteen-year-old. Someone actually needs to slap me in the face so I snap out of this. I’m forty-fucking-five!
But my freak out is all but forgotten when I look up to find her gorgeous face grinning at me impishly. “You know, Mr. Grant, I’ve read somewhere that it’s illegal to ask someone their age in a job interview.”
A smile curves my lips as my eyes drink her in. Sitting there looking so sweet and innocent. How can I deny how much I want this girl? Switching this off now, would be like holding my breath and refusing to inhale. Now,thatwould be crazy.
“I can already see it on your resume, Ms. Townsend,” I say, noticing that her shoulders relax a little at the same time.
“Emmy.”
